


The Things We Can't Have

by happycookiie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, Demisexuality, F/M, Friendship/Love, Kissing, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happycookiie/pseuds/happycookiie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't touch people. Not like that. He doesn't touch them, and they don't touch him. But here's Beth, the girl whose chaste finger brushes and hand holds he found himself… liking. The only person he's found that he gets something more out of her touch. And she's asking why he doesn't want that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Can't Have

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt (from tumblr): Daryl, being asexual/demisexual either A; decides to approach Beth about having sex because it is something he recognizes as something she needs and wants to please her or B; decides to approach Beth about having sex because the desire to do so is growing out of the intimacy they already share, in spite of his previous expression to the contrary, something he's finding himself wanting because its *her*. Not discounting his sexual orientation in either case.
> 
> Enjoy!

She doesn't properly understand when he first tells her, but at the same time she doesn't seem entirely surprised to learn the truth behind his actions. Or rather… lack of.

The lack of sex.

_Never really liked it that much_ , he said, and she nodded, because of course she would. But then she had to ask her infamous _why not,_ and Daryl feels like his throat is clogged.

_I just don't._

_Never did._

She nods again, and he can see the realisation creeping into her features as he looks at her, and then he knows everything has fallen into place in her head.

He doesn't touch people. Not like that.

He doesn't touch them, and they don't touch him.

The last time it happened was before the world took a turn and Merle was still alive, doing all that shit an ass of a brother who was high ninety-nine percent of the time would do. Dragging him into bars, shit, and practically dumping him in the lap of a woman and giving him a hard pat on the back for encouragement. He's not afraid of doing that, which is what some people would believe upon learning, he's just never really gotten anything out of it. Nothing more than the occasional release and a less of a dick Merle, which basically means a happy Merle.

But here's Beth, the girl whose chaste finger brushes and hand holds he found himself… liking. The only person he's found that he gets something more out of her touch. And she's asking why he doesn't want that.

Of course she would. Because whilst it may not come as a surprise to her and she can accept it, _understanding_ doesn't come with that in a package, and that's what she wants from him.

She wants to understand.

That's what she's always wanted, and that's the core of what he doesn't necessarily _want_ , but _gets_ from her. How she cares enough to be willing to listen in order to understand. So he tells her, because there was never a scenario that could happen where he didn't, because he _always_ tells her. Whether it's if he's okay, or who he was before, or why he doesn't find anything overly appealing about sex. He explains it as best as he can, because they both know words aren't his strong point.

But that's never seemed to matter to her. She has enough words for the both of them.

Enough songs.

After some awkward mumbled paragraphs and a couple of answered questions from her, she finally goes silent and stares down at her knees. He'd say she looked sad, but she doesn't. She doesn't really look much of anything… Just neutral. He watches her blink slowly and bite the inside of her lip, and he wants to punch himself. Because he can't give her what she wants, and if she ever wanted anything like that from him—which even though Daryl finds it shocking to believe, she _could've_ —she's realising now that he can't give it to her.

And she can't give it _him_.

What she had with Zach (he knows she did because she told him) and what she might've even had with Jimmy… She can't have that with him, and even though they've both only just come to the actual realisation, really… they've known all along.

_It wasn't like that_ ; he'd said to Maggie when she confronted him about seducing her baby sister, like he was ever capable of performing and succeeding in such an act. Like earning her affection was the easiest thing to achieve, because Beth Greene didn't hand herself out on a silver platter to any man if feelings weren't involved.

_It wasn't like that._

_It was_ never _like that._

Eventually, Beth looks up from her knees and stares at him, that same neutral expression on her face.

He stares back, lips sealed shut and bangs hanging almost entirely over his eyes like curtains, hiding the half-boy-half-man behind. Carol said it needed cutting, but he shut her down instantly and basically fled. To others it might seem overlong, and wild, basically demonstrative of the world outside Alexandria's walls, but to him it's more safety than the safe zone could ever provide.

It hides the vulnerable. And after everything, he doesn't want anyone to see what's underneath. Especially not the Alexandrians.

But Beth's not like that. She doesn't see him as some wild thing, as a beast stripped of all humanity. He knows when he showed her the vulnerability back when they were alone together that she didn't judge. Apart from the assumption that he'd been in jail at some point, she'd never filed him into some little box of stereotypes to make it easier.

All she ever wanted was to understand.

Lifting her hand, she pushes the long dark strands of hair out of his eyes and leaves her thumbs ghosting his cheeks. She stares into his now completely exposed eyes, the jagged scars on her face angry and crisp at such close range whilst he eyes are so calm, and he knows she can feel him trembling. And then she leans in really slowly, and kisses the side of his mouth, lips brushing the unkempt stubble there.

"I love you, Daryl." she says, and he chokes on his own breath.

She says it like it's the easiest thing she's ever said, simple, certain, and it feels so raw and natural that he wants to say it back so badly…

But can't. He just, honestly and truly, _can't_. And he hates that.

"And I don't need that," she carries on, "I don't. I _want_ it, but I don't need it. An' I don't care what anybody else thinks… I just need you."

"I want _you_ ,"

"…Just not like that."

Her smile is warm and gentle and everything good she represents, and for some reason thinks he deserves, but there's a sadness in her eyes. She's trying to cover it, blinking it away and feigning warmth for the smile, but he sees it. And he doesn't judge her for it, despite her display of complete acceptance, because of course she would be upset. Something so natural (and probably what she saw as essential to this type of connection between two people) to her goes way beyond his capability and being, and she has to accept that.

_Because she loves him_.

She's giving up that part of herself because she loves him so much. So much she ran up the country with a hole torn through her head just to find them all. To find _him_. And he loves _her_ so, so much. More than he ever thought existed out of all those patronising fairytales about love and devotion, more than anything.

So he kisses her.

He thinks he can do that much, after all she's done, and will undoubtedly _keep_ doing for him.

He kisses her harder than he'd originally intended to, hands reaching up to the base of her head and pulling her closer, and she responds almost instantly. Her hands comb into his hair and she kisses him deeply, swallowing each shaky breath he gives but never acting too brashly. She knows what he's doing is for her, completely for her own pleasure and comfort, and she takes what she can because he's offering it. He can feel the love on her lips as she presses frantic kisses to his mouth, and he returns it with a couple of strong laps of his tongue.

He can feel it, against his mouth, husky and breathy.

_I love you, I love you_ , whispered in-between kisses and nips. And he loves her so much too that all he can do is kiss her back and hope to god that this is enough, that she knows how much he does like she did with that startled little _oh_.

_You did more than change my mind_ , he wants to say. _You made me better, you showed me I was better._

_You gave me somethin' to believe in._

_You showed me it doesn't kill ya to do that._

He hopes she looks into his eyes and sees just how much he loves and believes in her, because he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to tell her with his poor fucking excuses of words.

_I love you, girl. So damn much._


End file.
